


Sherlock's Fall

by Luscinnia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luscinnia/pseuds/Luscinnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade gets to know of Sherlock's "death" and finds his own way to cope with the news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Fall

Lestrade still felt horrible about having to arrest Sherlock.  
He was clever enough to keep it to himself but everything inside him revolted against those words he had to speak to Sherlock. One of the few persons he trusted; really trusted and yet he had to follow the order that was given to him by his superior. “Fetch him in. Right now.”

 

All he was able to do was calling John and warn them. Somehow he hoped that they wouldn’t be at home when they arrived at Baker Street, but of course Sherlock didn’t flee. Only much time later should Lestrade understand Sherlock’s reasons for staying in the flat that evening.

Lestrade felt defeated when he stated the Miranda warnings to Sherlock and when he heard how the handcuffs latched around his wrists.  
Sally Donovan’s triumphant expression and the furious glance John gave him, hurt. Not to speak of Mrs H’s confusion and indignation. She knew the Inspector who paid Sherlock regular visits and she had always liked him.  
He was good looking for his age and job and he had always been very polite towards her and listened to her with an infinite patience.

When Sherlock took John as his “hostage”, Lestrade didn’t feel very enthusiastic about following them and he couldn’t be bothered to put much effort into the hunt. He was aware that this lack of interest in the Consulting Detective’s whereabouts would lead to unpleasant questions, a load of paperwork and an awful amount of extra hours. He simply didn’t care.  
Sherlock and John remained ‘vanished’ and Lestrade had to return to his desk.

It was an open secret that the Detective Inspector was rather fond of Sherlock Holmes and the news spread fast as soon as the first official call got in.  
Lestrade began to wonder about the looks he suddenly got from his colleagues. Anderson and Donovan avoided each other and both appeared to feel highly uncomfortable.  
Lestrade frowned and pushed his observations aside. It was Dimmock who eventually entered his office. Quietly and with a doleful expression.

“Sir?”  
Lestrade looked up. He sensed that Dimmock came with bad news. Or at least something unpleasant.  
“Yes?”, he fumbled with the pen between his fingers.  
“There was a call. From St. Bart’s… and we thought you should know for you kind of … sort of… “, Lestrade grew impatient. There was a knot in his stomach and he knew what was coming. It was unavoidable but he needed to hear it spoken aloud. He needed to hear the words.  
“Yes?”, he said grimly and Dimmock took a deep breath.  
“There was an incident and… Sir…  
Sherlock Holmes is dead.”

Lestrade felt cold. It spread from the knot in his stomach to his heart and into his spine.  
Dead and gone. How was that even possible?  
“Thank you, Dimmock.”, he said as calm and composed as he was able to. Later he wasn’t able to recall how he managed it to get through the rest of the day.  
He wasn’t aware of the assassin among those officers in the open space office and he got very pale when he got to know the whole story.  
A lot later.

Lestrade always enjoyed socialising with his colleagues. Often they met after work for a pint or two in a Pub nearby and discussed cases, suspects…soon other colleagues (most of them absent) and later football, cars and politics.

This evening Lestrade sought to be on his own.  
He was not shocked or sad, he just felt numb. It was vain to go through why and what if and all he could do was remember.

What did he say to John once?  
“Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and some day, if we’re very very lucky, he might even be a good one.”  
A bitter smile formed on his lips and he whispered to himself: “He was a great man.” And in a gesture of his very own cynicism he lifted the glass with the amber coloured liquid and saluted to thin air:

“To the good man he was.”


End file.
